


tender is the touch

by addandsubtract



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Nipple Play, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: “You know, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says. “You’ve got a big chest for a guy.”
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 25
Kudos: 264





	tender is the touch

**Author's Note:**

> oh, you know how it is. wakatoshi is a big, good boy, just going along with all the semi-reasonable stuff tendou tells him to. that’s it, that’s the fic.

“You know, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says. “You’ve got a big chest for a guy.”

Tendou is lounging idly, sprawled out on a bench, waiting for Wakatoshi to finish getting dressed after practice, the way he always does. Everyone else has already left for the day, as is also normal. Only Tendou has the patience or desire to stay. He’s tapping his feet against the floor, thumbs poked into the waistband of his pants, eyeing Wakatoshi while he pulls on his shirt.

As far as Wakatoshi can tell, the comment isn’t a criticism, but he looks down anyway, studying his body, letting his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I make a conscious effort to exercise all of my muscles,” he says.

“That’s something I like about you, Wakatoshi, you’re so dedicated.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t reply, because he knows that with Tendou he’s only required to respond about twenty-five percent of the time. Tendou will usually move along without him unprompted.

Now, though, Tendou sways to his feet, taking a couple of steps closer until he’s sharing Wakatoshi’s space. He holds his hand up, wrapped fingers curved into a claw, miming as if he’s going to grab one of Wakatoshi’s pecs. 

“Yep, a real handful.” Tendou grins, wide and sharp and buoyant, the energy that pulled Wakatoshi in back when they were first years. He seems to read whatever expression is on Wakatoshi’s face and laughs. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Wakatoshi. You’ll see.”

The attention is difficult to ignore after that, though primarily because Tendou is obvious about it. It’s as if he’s worked through whatever might have been holding him back before and is now prepared to be conspicuous enough for even Wakatoshi to catch on. Wakatoshi can’t be sure there wasn’t anything earlier, but recognizing subtlety isn’t his forte.

For a few days, Tendou just watches — his eyes tracking over Wakatoshi’s body as he gets dressed, the way his shirt sticks to his damp skin when he pulls it on. That isn’t new, though the single-minded-ness of it, maybe. Then Tendou starts to touch him.

He first pushes three fingers against the underside of Wakatoshi’s left pec, nudging it up and letting it fall. When Wakatoshi raises his eyebrows, he just grins and winks before stepping away.

Later that week, he rubs one of his thumbs over Wakatoshi’s right nipple and asks, “What’s that feel like?”

“Like you’re touching me,” Wakatoshi says. 

“Good or bad?” Tendou asks. His hair is everywhere, still not properly spiked after his shower, and there’s water running down his neck. Noticing these sorts of details about Tendou isn’t new, nor is the way Wakatoshi doesn’t mind Tendou touching him without asking. It’s easier to let Tendou do what he wants, and if there comes a time when Wakatoshi is bothered, he’ll say so.

“Good?” It comes out like a question, because he isn’t entirely sure.

Tendou laughs. “We’ll work on it.”

Tendou doesn’t touch him the next day, or the day after, but it doesn’t feel like a deescalation. Tendou stands too close, the weight of his gaze is too heavy. Wakatoshi wonders if the feeling coiling in his belly is anticipation.

Wakatoshi watches Goshiki leave the locker room, the door swinging softly behind him, and then eyes Tendou, who is already moving to stand behind him. His shoulders tense up, unbidden, but he doesn’t turn or try to put space between them. Tendou seems to have a plan, and Wakatoshi usually ends up enjoying Tendou’s plans.

Wakatoshi has pulled on his briefs, but hasn’t gotten further — Goshiki distracted him with a spiking question, and Wakatoshi had stopped dressing to answer him. This means that Tendou has been waiting longer than usual, and that Wakatoshi’s skin is only slightly damp when Tendou runs fingers up his rib cage, up over his chest to cup his pecs. The touch is gentle, unfamiliar. Wakatoshi can feel Tendou’s breath humid against his neck. Tendou is only a bit shorter than Wakatoshi is, so he must be bending down slightly. When Wakatoshi turns his head, he sees Tendou’s face in his periphery, looking down over Wakatoshi’s shoulder at his hands on Wakatoshi’s chest.

“They’re really nice, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says. His thumbs brush over Wakatoshi’s skin, the left catching on the edge of Wakatoshi’s nipple, sending a weird sizzle of energy through him. It hadn’t felt like that last time. “You don’t care that I’m touching you like this?”

“No,” Wakatoshi says.

“That’s good, then I’m going to keep doing it.” There’s a smile in Tendou’s voice, a mischievous one that Wakatoshi recognizes, and then Tendou’s fingers tighten slightly, cupping him more fully. His thumbs rub purposefully against Wakatoshi’s nipples, and the contact makes them tighten up. It feels odd, but pleasurable in a way Wakatoshi can’t quantify.

“How’s it feel now? Good or bad?”

“Good,” Wakatoshi says, and when Tendou’s hands drop to his sides, scraping over his ribs, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Tendou’s chin digs into his shoulder. His grin is palpable. “That’s so great,” he says.

The next day, after a particularly long and strenuous practice, Tendou’s fingers slip underneath Wakatoshi’s shirt as they’re about to exit the locker room and pinch his left nipple, getting it hard, tugging at it. Wakatoshi looks down at Tendou’s hand inside his shirt, and then up at Tendou’s wicked grin, and serious, considering eyes. Tendou tugs again, and the feel of it — that spark of pleasure, the rough scrape of Tendou’s calloused fingertips — makes Wakatoshi suck in a quick breath. It’s not quite a gasp, but it’s enough that Tendou zeros in on his face, gaze sharp, pupils dilating.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he says. But he doesn’t push, sliding his hand away and nudging the door open, letting them both loose into the day.

It goes on like that for weeks, and Wakatoshi grows to expect it. He expects Tendou to pinch him, cup him through his shirt or push it up over his chest so he can see. He expects Tendou to circle around him, lean against his back, hands gripping Wakatoshi’s pecs as his fingers work Wakatoshi’s nipples. Wakatoshi can’t tell if he’s getting more sensitive or just noticing it now, but the more Tendou touches him, the more he realizes that he likes it. That, he doesn’t expect.

It’s part of their routine — Tendou waits while Wakatoshi does his extra reps, his additional spiking practice, sits in the empty locker room until Wakatoshi has showered, and then touches Wakatoshi’s chest in whatever way he feels like.

He asks Wakatoshi if it feels good, murmurs little compliments into his ear. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush, just enjoys the weight in his hands, the little breaths and noises that Wakatoshi finds himself making, the ones he can’t quite suppress.

“Sounds like you like that,” Tendou says, a whisper over Wakatoshi’s shoulder while he twists the raised nubs of Wakatoshi’s nipples between bandaged fingers.

Sometimes Wakatoshi notices the way they rub against his shirt for the rest of the day, through his classes and homework, during mealtimes, with Tendou sitting next to him. He doesn’t say anything about that. 

Sometimes he touches them while he jerks off, but it never feels as good as when Tendou does it. He doesn’t say anything about that, either.

Tendou is behind Wakatoshi, gripping his pecs, almost massaging them with his fingers, when he tips his chin onto Wakatoshi’s shoulder and says, “Wakatoshi, are you hard?”

There is no way Tendou can’t see for himself, but still Wakatoshi says, “Yes.”

“Will you do something for me?”

Wakatoshi considers this. “What do you want me to do?”

“Unbutton your pants and take out your dick.”

“Why?” Wakatoshi asks, fingers flexing at his sides.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Tendou says. “While I’m touching you.”

Tendou’s fingers squeeze a little harder, and that’s enough to convince Wakatoshi, who tugs open his pants, pushing them and his underwear down over his thighs. He wasn’t lying — he’s hard, sticky precome beading at the tip, and he sighs when he wraps a hand around himself.

“You’re big there too, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says. He digs one fingernail into Wakatoshi’s nipple, making him arch. “I thought you’d be.”

Wakatoshi hasn’t thought about it much, and certainly isn’t now, when he’s more preoccupied with the feel of his hand around his shaft, stroking, while Tendou kneads at his pecs, breath hot on his neck. He should be considering one of the coaches or another student wandering in, the precarious position they’re both in, but he’s not. Instead he moves his hand faster, working his hips. Tendou’s fingers are so nimble on his chest, squeezing and pinching.

It doesn’t take him long to come, pulsing over his fingers, his wrist, splattering the floor in front of him. His chest is heaving underneath Tendou’s palms.

After, once Wakatoshi has done up his pants and washed his hands, once his breathing has calmed down, Tendou pushes his shirt up and leans in, fastening his mouth around Wakatoshi’s right nipple and sucking. His teeth scrape. His fingertips are a hot brand on Wakatoshi’s ribs, gentle but firm. His mouth is wet and hot, the suction strong. Wakatoshi shudders, putting one hand on Tendou’s shoulder, but not pushing him away, not pulling him in. When Tendou steps back, letting Wakatoshi’s shirt fall back into place, he looks smug and pleased, eyes half-lidded, mouth red and coiled up to one side.

“That was very good,” he says.

For the rest of the day, every time Wakatoshi’s shirt brushes against his chest he can feel the phantom heat of Tendou’s mouth.

Tendou is a mystery to nearly everyone, but Wakatoshi hasn’t ever really considered him one. Even now, Tendou is doing what he wants, but he’s also doing what Wakatoshi will let him. He’s asking for more, in his own way, his hands greedy, his smile sharp, but there’s nothing threatening about him. He’s asking, and Wakatoshi doesn’t mind giving.

Wakatoshi knows he’s Tendou’s favorite person, and it’s not conceited to think so, but he hadn’t considered that Tendou would have thoughts about his body. Wakatoshi hadn’t factored in desire. He spends more time treating his body like a machine that needs to be maintained and very little thinking about how he looks. 

It’s interesting, the way Tendou wants to touch him. Wakatoshi could say no if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to.

“What is it you like so much?” Wakatoshi asks. There’s precome smeared across his palm, between his fingers, and he’s stroking himself more slowly this time. Tendou is looking over Wakatoshi’s shoulder, both at Wakatoshi smoothing his thumb over the head of his cock and at his own fingers pinching and twisting Wakatoshi’s nipples. They’re hard, flushed pink from the stimulation, and every tug makes Wakatoshi’s hips jerk.

“You don’t think you’re sexy?” Tendou asks. He sounds slightly breathless, but mostly amused. Even though Wakatoshi keeps catching glimpses of Tendou’s face in his peripheral vision he can’t gauge Tendou’s expression.

“I’ve never thought about it,” Wakatoshi says, when it becomes clear that Tendou is waiting for a response.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Tendou says, cheerfully. “That’s one of your charms, Wakatoshi. You’re a walking wet dream and it’s never even occurred to you.” His thumbs rub, rub over the already sensitized flesh of Wakatoshi’s nipples, and Wakatoshi swallows around a noise. His cock spits a blurt of precome onto his fingers.

Wakatoshi doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Tendou, as usual, doesn’t seem to mind, just leans in closer to Wakatoshi’s ear and croons, “Look at you. You’re really getting into it. It’s so nice of you to let me watch you get off. I think your nipples are more sensitive now than when we started. Do you think you’ll feel them later, rubbing against the inside of your shirt? Will it make you hard? How inconvenient.”

Wakatoshi comes like that, hips working into the curve of his fist, light-headed and pleasantly spent. Tendou urges him around, until his back is against the row of lockers, Tendou now standing in front of him. From this angle, Wakatoshi can see that Tendou’s cock is tenting up the front of his uniform pants.

“What do you say, Wakatoshi? Will you feel them later, under your shirt?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. “I usually do.”

That makes Tendou smile, a sweet grin, and he says, “You’re so good to me. Want to let me try something else?”

“Okay,” Wakatoshi says, and hopes it’s Tendou’s mouth. He’s been thinking about Tendou’s mouth, his teeth, the sucking pressure of his lips. He’s only gotten it the once. He’s rewarded when Tendou leans in, one hand coming up to grip Wakatoshi’s pec, and then he’s licking over the heated skin, opening his mouth around it.

Wakatoshi’s head hits the lockers behind him, and he groans, screwing his eyes shut. This is why he doesn’t hear the sound of Tendou’s zipper, doesn’t see the bobbing of Tendou’s free hand between his legs, until Tendou moans mid-suck, the vibration of it a glorious surprise against Wakatoshi’s wet skin.

Tendou squeezes the pec that isn’t in his mouth, bites at the one that is, and Wakatoshi feels a shudder run all the way through him. He looks down, sees the red head of Tendou’s cock, the speed with which he’s jerking himself off, and wonders for the first time if Tendou has been doing this afterward every time.

Wakatoshi isn’t going to come again, but that doesn’t matter. It feels good, and Tendou is enjoying himself, sucking red marks into Wakatoshi’s chest, tonguing over his nipple, twisting the neglected one between his fingertips. When he comes, he looks up at Wakatoshi, his eyes wide and dark, and splatters his hand, the floor between them. It takes them both a couple of extra minutes to pull themselves together and get cleaned up.

Afterward, Tendou lifts his shirt again, like he’s checking his handiwork. “Not that obvious, as hickeys go,” he says. “Maybe I have to try a little harder.”

They’re nearly late to class, and Wakatoshi spends the rest of the day distracted. It does make him hard, the way his shirt feels coarse against his sensitive skin. He thinks about stepping out to the bathroom and taking care of it, but Tendou would definitely know if he did. They have the same afternoon schedule. 

They still share a locker room with the rest of the team, so Wakatoshi wonders if anyone will notice — if there’s any kind of physical change to go along with the increased sensation — but no one says anything. There aren’t even any awkward pauses. No one pays as close attention to his body as Tendou does.

He says as much to Tendou, who laughs. “That’s not entirely true, but I do think I have the best access to you.” 

There’s a leer in his voice when he says it, which is likely more to do with the way his hands are already underneath Wakatoshi’s rucked-up shirt than his words. It’s not long before he’s leaning his forehead on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, his knuckles nudging the small of Wakatoshi’s back as he gets himself off, palming Wakatoshi’s chest with his other hand. Wakatoshi occasionally feels the wet head of Tendou’s cock brush his skin. 

“How do you feel now, Wakatoshi?” Tendou asks. His mouth skates over the side of Wakatoshi’s neck and doesn’t bear down.

“Good,” he says. Wakatoshi hasn’t wanted very many things, when it comes down to it. But he wants this.

Sometime the following week, Tendou is pushing up Wakatoshi’s shirt when the locker room door swings open and Shirabu walks back in. Tendou is quick — not a surprise — and steps aside before Shirabu is even fully visible, but they’ve gotten away with so much that it’s a shock of cold water to remember they’ve never been safe.

“Why are you two still here?” Shirabu asks.

“Wakatoshi takes forever and I’m doomed to wait for him,” Tendou says, grin sharp. “Forget something?”

Shirabu makes a face. “Left the book I borrowed from Semi in my locker and he wants it back.”

“Well, chop chop,” Tendou says, but the three of them leave together. Wakatoshi is already dressed, and there aren’t further excuses to make. Shirabu seems to think nothing of it.

Later, Wakatoshi finds that he’s restless. He doesn’t fidget, but he can feel the burn of excess energy, the result of his stymied encounter with Tendou. Tendou sends an arch look his way, amused, like he can tell. Maybe he can. Maybe he’s feeling the same way.

They’re let out into the afternoon, free until dinner time, and Tendou grabs Wakatoshi by the arm and leads him back to the dorms. He passes his own room, and pushes open the door to Wakatoshi’s, tugging them both inside and flipping the lock behind him.

“It’s so nice that you don’t have a roommate this term,” Tendou says, herding Wakatoshi towards the bed. Wakatoshi doesn’t need to be herded, Tendou could just ask, but he thinks Tendou likes it, showing Wakatoshi what to do.

“Dinner isn’t that far off,” Wakatoshi says, but he lets Tendou push him down onto the mattress and shove his shirt up to his armpits.

Tendou grins, impish, and says, “So we’ll be fast.” 

He leans and gets his mouth around one of Wakatoshi’s pecs, sucking as much of it in as he can. Wakatoshi groans, unprepared, and then raises his hips as Tendou’s hands go to work on his pants, unbuttoning them and dragging them down, exposing Wakatoshi from thighs to neck.

Tendou pulls away long enough to look Wakatoshi over, long enough to tug his own pants down and straddle Wakatoshi’s thighs. He wraps a hand around them both, gripping them together.

“Look at you,” he says. “You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just leans back in to bite at Wakatoshi’s nipple, press his tongue to the sting and then pull it back into his mouth. Wakatoshi doesn’t know where to focus — Tendou’s hand is big and warm, bringing him off, and Tendou’s cock is dripping precome between them, but Tendou’s mouth, his mouth is roaming across Wakatoshi’s chest, making his skin sizzle, slightly too much and also not enough.

Wakatoshi comes faster than he means to, one hand rising up, unbidden, to slide into Tendou’s hair, holding him close, keeping his mouth exactly where Wakatoshi wants it. He’s so sensitive there now.

Tendou works him through the aftershocks, and then pulls away, sitting back and letting Wakatoshi’s cock slide out of his grasp. Tendou is still hard, and his gaze moves from the come splattered on Wakatoshi’s belly, up to his pecs, up to his mouth, his eyes.

“Touch yourself for me,” Tendou says, different than last time, but Wakatoshi still knows what he wants. He pinches his nipples between his fingertips, tugging at them, and watches Tendou’s gaze get hungrier. He cups his pecs, pulling them up, squeezing them between his fingers, and Tendou leans closer, his hand brutally fast on his cock. He licks his lips, says, “Your nipples are so pink now, from all the attention they’re getting.”

“Because you like them,” Wakatoshi says. His voice, he’s surprised to find, is hoarse. He hadn’t noticed that he’d made much noise. His fingers still don’t feel as good as Tendou’s, but the expression on Tendou’s face, the desire scrawled across every inch of him, is almost better.

“There’s no part of you I don’t like,” Tendou says, mouth pulled up to one side, as earnest as ever about his affections. “But yeah, I like them a lot.”

Wakatoshi moves his hands, letting his pecs bounce back into place, and then cups himself again, thumbing at his nipples. Tendou groans, hips working, and his cock jerks, spurting over Wakatoshi’s stomach. For a long moment, Tendou just breathes, and then he slumps over a bit, messy hands reaching up to join Wakatoshi’s, plucking at the hard nubs and leaving a little glimmer of semen behind. He rubs again, spreading his fingers over Wakatoshi’s chest, smearing little trails of white.

“I’ve made a mess of you, Wakatoshi. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Wakatoshi says. “I don’t mind.”

Two days later, Tendou bends Wakatoshi over the back of his desk chair, presses his cock between Wakatoshi’s thighs, says, “This way I can get both hands on you,” and starts to thrust. It feels weird and good, the head brushing against Wakatoshi’s balls when Tendou presses forward, leaving a slick spot behind. As Tendou gets worked up the slide gets easier, sweat and precome sliding, sticky, against his skin.

Meanwhile, Tendou’s hands have already reached around, slipping underneath Wakatoshi’s shirt and gripping his chest, using it for leverage while he thrusts. His mouth is pressed behind Wakatoshi’s ear, and he says, “Are you getting yourself off?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. Tendou touched him a little in the locker room earlier, but not enough, not when they have the whole afternoon today, and the whole weekend ahead of them. It’s a relief to be able to touch himself now.

“Why do you let me do these things to you?” Tendou asks. The tip of his tongue touches the shell of Wakatoshi’s ear while he speaks, making Wakatoshi shudder. It’s a real question, despite the breathiness of Tendou’s voice, and not one that Wakatoshi thought Tendou would need the answer to.

“Because I like it,” Wakatoshi says, stifling a moan when Tendou’s fingernails catch on his nipples. He lets his fingers move faster over his cock. “I like what you do.”

“Yeah?” Wakatoshi can feel Tendou’s cock twitch between his thighs.

“Yes, I trust you,” Wakatoshi says. “It feels — good.”

“How romantic, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says, digging his fingertips into Wakatoshi’s nipples again and leaning up enough to kiss him on the cheek. “Turn your head for me.”

Wakatoshi does, and Tendou kisses him on the lips this time, licking into his mouth easily, showing Wakatoshi what he likes the same as he always does. He’s forceful but not hurried, sucking at Wakatoshi’s tongue, taking control, and that’s when Wakatoshi comes. He stripes the back of the chair, hips jerking forward, mouth going slack under Tendou’s.

“A sight to behold,” Tendou says, kissing and kissing him, his thrusts speeding up as he approaches orgasm. “Keep your thighs tight for me. Maybe sometime soon I’ll open you up with my fingers. You’d let me fuck you, wouldn’t you, Wakatoshi?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says, already imagining it. He would. 

“All the things we could work our way up to,” Tendou says, groaning. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
